


Thinking About You, As If I Lost You

by melissmallfic



Series: Cracked, But Not Broken [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissmallfic/pseuds/melissmallfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey gets a call to go visit Ian in the hospital, alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had to change the rating! Eep!

Usually when Ian's doctor called a family meeting Fiona drove the whole group of them. Mickey, Liam, Debbie, and Carl piled into the station wagon and tried not to work each other into a lather before they got there. Nine times out of ten it didn't work out, with Mickey and Fiona usually at each other's throats by the time they parked. One time it even ended with Mickey getting out a mile before the hospital and walking there. In contrast, the rides home were almost exclusively silent. Liam slept and the rest of them were alone with their thoughts.

But this time the doctor called Mickey and asked him to come in by himself the following day. Mickey finally understood what people meant when they talked about riding a roller coaster of emotions. 

For the rest of the afternoon and all night when he couldn't sleep, Mickey went back and forth between feeling high that maybe Ian only wanted to see  _him_  or so low thinking that it had to be bad news.

The next morning on maybe an hour's sleep, Mickey got the bad news from Svetlana that he'd have to take Yevgeny with him. He was too exhausted to fight with her, simply packing the baby into his car seat and carrying the unwieldy thing to the bus stop. As soon as they were seated, both Mickey and Yevgeny passed out immediately. 

An hour later, Mickey woke abruptly to the sound of Yevgeny crying. The other passengers glared at him until he was able to quiet his son with a bottle of formula. One middle-aged guy continued to stare at Mickey with obvious disdain, but Mickey refused to engage. As badly as he wanted to punch the guy's face bloody, he didn't dare do anything that would jeopardize his visit with Ian.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Mickey was irritated that he had to take the time to change Yevgeny's diaper before their meeting. The kid squirmed and cried, which was relatively rare and did nothing to calm Mickey's nerves. He couldn't bring himself to make any soothing noises, not trusting that he wouldn't just scream or start to cry himself. His nerves were shattered. But thankfully once he was changed and redressed, Yevgeny returned to his normal, quiet self. Mickey thanked whatever fucking god had decided he would have the most abnormally calm child on the planet instead of the hellion he probably deserved.

Even though he was exactly on time, a few minutes early in fact, Mickey had to sit in the waiting room for a while. He'd been so scattered that morning he'd forgotten to charge his phone, so he had nothing to distract him except for Yevgeny. Just as he reached the point where he was going so out of his mind he was ready to take Yevgeny out of his seat just to have  _something_ to do, the doctor poked her head out and called his name.

They walked down a narrow hallway and into the now-familiar office. The doctor motioned for Mickey to have a seat. Mickey was surprised Ian wasn't already there.

"How are you doing, Mickey?" the doctor, whose nameplate read Kadorian, a name Mickey could never remember, asked. She barely looked up from her papers, so Mickey couldn't tell if he was supposed to answer or she was just being polite. When he said nothing she finally made eye contact. "Sorry, a little busy today. Are you okay, Mickey?"

"Fine," he said. He wasn't fine, he was fucking exhausted and more stressed out than he could remember being. And her constantly saying his name whenever she spoke to him always irritated him. Like she was trying to prove that she knew who she was talking to. Like it mattered at all to Mickey. He wanted her to know  _Ian's_ name, that was all he cared about. "Is Ian okay?"

She smiled. "Ian's doing well. We can't get too excited yet, but he seems to be responding well to his new medication. And he's participating more in group therapy, which we're all very happy about."

Mickey pulled his upper lip into his mouth with his teeth. If everything was good, why was he here?

Dr. Kadorian picked up on Mickey's mood. With so little sleep, his guard was completely down and his every thought was probably written all over his face.

"I'm sorry, Mickey, you're wondering why you're here." He nodded and his stomach started to churn. Yevgeny gurgled at his feet and he gave his son a brief, distracted glance. Yevgeny smiled and clapped when Mickey looked his way. Mickey tried to smile back but it probably looked more like a grimace.

"Mickey, Ian has something he wants to discuss with you. And he wanted me to be with him while he did it."

"What does he want to talk about?" Mickey could hear the panic in his voice. 

"It's for him to share with you, I just wanted to talk to you about the best way to handle things with Ian before he came in here." She looked down at her notes. "You've been very supportive, Mickey, but sometimes you react...harshly."

Mickey looked down. He'd flown off the handle a few times in family therapy, usually at Fiona, but occasionally at Ian. He admitted that his instinct was to fight back instead of just listen. But he couldn't help it, he found it impossible to listen to anyone, even Ian, bring up things that were dead and buried just to make him feel like shit.

Obviously today needed to be different. Somehow Mickey felt like he would do better without Fiona or anyone else in the room. 

"Okay," he said finally. 

"If you could just hear Ian out. Try to let him speak his mind fully before you respond. And remember that it's important to be understanding, that Ian's feelings are valid, just as much as yours."

Mickey could read between the lines. Today, whatever Ian said, Mickey needed to be on his side. He couldn't fight. Mickey nodded, and the pain in his stomach was bordering on excruciating. It was right beneath his rib cage, pulsing.

"Thank you, Mickey. I know you can do this for Ian." Dr. Kadorian stood up, brushing her pants free of invisible lint. "I'm going to get him now." She put a hand on Mickey's shoulder as she left the room.

Swallowing hard, Mickey instinctively reached down and unbuckled Yevgeny from his seat. He pulled the little boy up into his lap, standing him up on his thigh. Yevgeny was so warm, and he smiled so easily. He thought it would never get to this point, but Mickey felt a little calmer with the baby in his arms.

A few minutes later the door was opening again and Ian walked in in front of Dr. Kadorian. He took the seat next to Mickey, but didn't meet his eyes right away. But when he saw Yevgeny he broke out in a huge smile.

"Hey, tough guy," he said, leaning forward and grazing two knuckles against Yevgeny's round belly. The baby gurgled and arched his back, reaching for Ian. Ian's eyes flicked up to Mickey's, questioning.

Mickey held Yevgeny out to him. "Here," he said, his voice coming out rough. He didn't actually want to give his son up, but he could tell Ian wanted him just as badly.

Dr. Kadorian was settled behind her desk again. "Thank you for coming in today, Mickey. It was really important to Ian to have you here."

Ian nodded at Dr. Kadorian, but didn't look at Mickey. They'd never exactly acted like Romeo and Juliet when they were reunited for visits, but Mickey had certainly never felt this awkward. Ian seemed uncomfortable, like he wanted Mickey gone, even though he was the one who'd asked him to come.

"Ian, why don't you tell Mickey what you wanted to talk to him about?"

Ian swallowed and looked at Yevgeny, who gave him a toothless, drooling smile. After taking a deep breath, Ian finally turned to give Mickey his full attention.

"Mick, I need a break," he said. His voice was even, so calm that Mickey didn't really process the words for a beat.

"A break," he repeated.

Ian bit his lip. "Yeah," he started, then took a moment to put Yevgeny on the floor, where the baby sat happily. "I think maybe you shouldn't come here for a while."

"Ian," Dr. Kadorian said. Ian looked over at his doctor, while Mickey couldn't tear his eyes from his boyfriend's face.

Ian seemed to understand something that went over Mickey's head. "Sorry. I mean, I don't want you to come here anymore. I need you to wait until I get in touch with you."

Mickey felt like someone had set the lining of his stomach on fire. It turned out he didn't even need Dr. Kadorian's 'be supportive' pep talk. There was no fight in him at all, not a single thought came into his head except to hear Ian's words repeated over and over again.

"Mickey?" Dr. Kadorian was looking at him gravely. Mickey thought for a second that he might throw up, but he swallowed and tried to breathe through his nose. "Do you have anything you want to say?"

Suddenly he had a million things he wanted to say.  _Don't leave me. I won't survive without you._  But he knew he couldn't say any of that. This was what Ian wanted. Maybe it was what he needed to get well. 

"Whatever you need," he said after a minute, his throat feeling like it was going to close up on him. The look of relief on Ian's face was like a punch to the chest. That was the thing that broke him. Mickey felt his mouth start to fill with saliva and knew he had about thirty seconds to get the fuck out of that office before he puked. "Just a sec," he muttered, pushing out of his seat and practically sprinting to the thankfully nearby restroom.

He barely made it to his knees before his pathetic breakfast was repeating on him. He felt tears streaming down his face as he coughed and choked. After what felt like forever, but was probably only a minute, it was all over. Mickey sat back against the wall, grateful that it was one of those private, handicap-accessible bathrooms that he could sit and stretch out his legs. He pulled a few squares of toilet paper off the roll to wipe his face. He sat quietly, closing his eyes and just tried to breathe normally.  

That was it. It was over. Ian didn't want him around anymore. Why would he? Mickey knew he was worthless. A teenage dad with an illegal whore for a wife, a murderous psychopath of a father waiting patiently to be released from prison so he could kill his disgrace of a son. Mickey had no valuable skills, nothing to offer someone like Ian other than enthusiastic blow jobs and a cute kid.

Ian deserved more, he had a future. Even after all this, Mickey knew Ian was the type who could clean himself up and create a real life for himself. All Mickey would do is weigh him down. Mickey always expected that Ian would figure that out, but he didn't think it would be so soon.

Before he went too far down that emotional black hole, Mickey picked himself up off the floor. He flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and rinsed his face and mouth. The boy in the mirror was pale, even paler than usual. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. He looked years older than his actual age. What did Ian ever see in him?

When Mickey went back into the room, he wasn't sure how long he'd been gone. Ian and Dr. Kadorian were talking quietly to one another and Yevgeny was back in Ian's lap. They both looked up at Mickey with concern, Ian's tinged with guilt. Mickey took his seat, mumbling an apology.

"Are you okay, Mickey?" Dr. Kadorian asked. Ian's eyes kept looking over at him, but only for a few seconds at a time. Like Mickey was the sun and Ian knew if he looked to long he'd go blind.

"Fine," Mickey said, lying for the second time that day. He almost made an excuse about having eaten something bad, but thought better of it. What did it matter? They both knew he was full of shit.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Dr. Kadorian cleared her throat. "Well, Mickey, if you don't have anything you want to say to Ian, it's just about time for him to get to lunch." She looked down at her watch.

Mickey looked at Ian. Ian looked so much better than he had just a few weeks earlier. He'd put on some weight, and his hair was brighter. But it was the life in his eyes that made him look more like the Ian Mickey remembered. He was so beautiful, it hurt to look at him.

"Okay," Mickey said, standing up and holding his arms out for Yevgeny. As soon as he was out of Ian's arms, Yevgeny started to cry. The sound made Mickey want to scream. He reached down and grabbed the carrier with his free hand.

He wanted so desperately for Ian to kiss him, especially if it was the last one he'd get. But he wouldn't ask for it. He couldn't even look anywhere but the floor, too scared to see what Ian was thinking.

Dr. Kadorian opened the door to her office and Ian stepped out first. Mickey followed, bouncing Yevgeny a bit to get him to stop crying. Out in the hall, Yev reached for Ian again. Mickey wanted to do the same thing, but knew he couldn't. He did find it somewhere in himself to look at Ian again. Ian put a hand out to let Yevgeny wrap a tiny hand around one finger. He looked at Mickey.

"You're really okay, Mick?" he asked. His eyes were begging Mickey to say yes, even though he knew that wasn't the truth. All Mickey could do was nod, not trusting his voice. Ian smiled gratefully and put his mouth to Yevgeny's hand. Mickey burned with jealousy, but said nothing. Ian nodded and let go of Yev. Dr. Kadorian put a hand on his shoulder and Ian turned to walk toward the dining room. When he was halfway down the hall, he turned back and gave a little wave.

Yevgeny whimpered and, for what felt like the millionth time that day, Mickey envied his son the ability to express himself. He wanted, just for a minute, to be able to throw himself on the ground and scream and cry until he was sick. Until Ian could see that he shouldn't leave, that Mickey wasn't okay.

The bus ride home was a blur. Yev was fussier than he'd been on the way up, not placated by his yogurt snacks or his pacifier. Svetlana was home when they got there and immediately took him from Mickey. 

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, popping a bottle of formula into Yevgeny's mouth. She almost looked genuinely interested. But as badly as he wanted someone to feel sorry for him, he knew it would be a huge mistake to give Svetlana the satisfaction.

"Nothing, just tired," he said. He went into his room and shut the door behind him, driving the heels of his hands into his eyes. He plugged his phone in to the charger by the nightstand and it buzzed instantly to life.

There were several texts from Debbie and one from Fiona. He ignored Fiona's and scrolled through Debbie's. As he was reading the second, which was really more of an essay than a text, the phone started ringing in his hand. Debbie. He regretted mentioning her that he was going to the hospital, but couldn't bring himself to ignore the call.

"What?" he said.

"Jesus, you sound like shit," Debbie said.

" _What_ , Debbie?" he repeated, sitting on the edge of the bed. He toed off his shoes and lay back on the pillow. He didn't want to talk to Debbie, he just wanted to fall asleep and never get up.

"What was the meeting about?" she said. " _I am_ ," she said, clearly to someone else. Probably Fiona.

Mickey wasn't sure where to start, or even what to tell her. Should he let Ian tell her? The doctor?

"Ian's doing better," he said after a second.

"Oh yeah?" Debbie said, sounding instantly buoyed by the news. "That why they wanted you to go all the way there? Couldn't they have told you over the phone?"

Mickey bit his lip. Of course Debbie wouldn't be satisfied with that. Fuck it, he'd tell her the truth. Not like he'd ever talk to any of the Gallaghers again after this anyway. Why would they, when Ian wanted nothing to do with him?

"He, uh, he ended things." Mickey swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. Saying it out loud was harder than he'd thought. Tears, of sadness, of total exhaustion, were burning in his eyes.

"He broke up with you?" Debbie whispered. But she clearly wasn't quiet enough. Mickey heard Fiona and,  _fuck_ , Lip say "he did what?" in the background.

"Yeah," Mickey said. He was determined not to let Debbie hear him cry. He knew he was going to, but he was going to do it by himself, godamnit. "He needs to just get better, Debbie. It's fine."

The sound of Debbie weeping was all too familiar at this point. Jesus, how was Mickey expected to put up with all the shit that was getting shoveled onto him today? He should be the one falling apart, instead of holding it together for everyone else.

"Debbie, don't," he begged. He wiped a tear that had managed to escape, praying she couldn't tell. He didn't need her to start sobbing.

"Mickey, I'm so sorry," she said, sounding as composed as she could. "I know how much you--"

"Don't. Please," he said. 

"Okay," she said, sounding shaky. "But, Mickey... Just. Just call me, if you want. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, knowing he never would. "I gotta go, Debbie." He knew he only had a few seconds before he totally melted down. And he really needed to not be on the phone with Ian's sister when it happened. 

"Bye, Mickey," Debbie said. Mickey heard Fiona telling her to wait, but he hung up before she could do anything stupid.

He dropped the phone to the floor and let out the breath he felt like he'd been holding for twenty-four hours. It had actually happened. The worst thing he could imagine, well, almost the worst. The worst would be for Ian to do something to  _himself_. The second worst was what he had just done to Mickey, letting him go. Mickey gasped and the rush of tears almost hurt they were so sudden and so intense.

He was doing the kind of crying he associated with little kids. Where he was barely making a sound, face beet red, and tears just absolutely streaming down his face. His breath came in short, painful bursts. He was thankful that he'd already thrown up the contents of his stomach because he would have absolutely cried himself sick if he hadn't. 

Mickey wasn't sure how long he went on, but the loud knock at his door stopped him dead. He sat up and used the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face. "Go away," he said, embarrassed by how wrecked he sounded.

The door opened. Fiona came in quickly and shut the door behind her.

"No," Mickey said, standing up and pointing at the door. "Get out."

Fiona ignored him and kept going, not stopping until she'd thrown her arms around him, crushing him in a fierce hug. Mickey struggled against her, considered biting her even, but was no match for her, not today. After a few seconds, he realized he'd been beat. He was bone tired, hungry, nauseous, and sadder than he could even fathom.

Probably from years of experience, Fiona recognized when Mickey gave up trying to push her off. She loosened her steel grip and brought one hand up to the back of Mickey's head. He wished a hole would open up in the floor and just swallow him up when he let out an involuntary sob. Fiona shushed him like he was one of her kids and, to Mickey's horror, rocked him back and forth.

But they stayed that way for a while, longer than Mickey ever imagined he would allow. Fiona holding him, Mickey clutching her and crying freely into her shirt. 

When he was finally done, Fiona pulled back but didn't let him go. Mickey could barely look her in the eye. She took him by the chin and gently forced him to look at her.

"Mickey," she said. He stared at her, terrified of what she would say. He didn't know anything anymore, least of all himself. "You're still our family. Okay? I need you to know that."

Mickey stared at her in disbelief. He started to shake his head, to open his mouth to argue with her. She covered his mouth with her hand.

"You're family. What you did for Ian. The way you love him," she trailed off. "Thank you. Just... Thank you."

She dropped her hand and looked down at her shirt, which was essentially ruined. She shrugged like it was nothing, like it happened to her all the time.

She touched his face one more time and headed for the door. After she'd opened it, she looked back at him, her hand still on the knob.

"For the record? I don't think this is it for you two." She smiled and nodded, mostly to herself, and shut the door behind her.


	2. Do You Think About Me, Still?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after Ian broke up with Mickey, it's Mickey's birthday and Fiona convinces him to celebrate.

Twenty-two sounded like it should be a lucky number. Twenty-two year olds were supposed to have birthday parties with cheap liquor, fast and hearty food like pizza for dinner, and something embarrassing like bowling or karaoke to end the night. Twenty-two year olds should be borrowing rent money from mommy and daddy, even if they could totally cover the bills if they stopped pulling stupid shit like going to the movies every Friday or brunch on Saturday  _and_ Sunday.

Mickey saw those kind of twenty-two year olds all the time. They took the L with him, but their commutes were opposite, even if those lucky fucks didn't realize it. They were coming home from happy hour when Mickey was starting his day on the third shift. And he saw them in the morning when he was heading home to try to convince his body it was bedtime even though the sun was just coming up.

But maybe he had things in common with at least some of those twenty-two year olds. He couldn't be the only one who was divorced with a toddler, struggling to keep the lights on and his son fed. He could spot exhaustion from a mile away, and it couldn't all be from too many shots or binge-watching British TV shows on Netflix.

It didn't matter anyway. Mickey was turning twenty-two and his life was what it was. Six months after Ian broke up with him, he started work at a chemical plant responsible for manufacturing flavors and dyes that went into all sorts of crazy shit like processed food and candles and perfume. When he told the rare person who asked what he did for a living that he was a Spray Dry Packaging Operator, he sort of enjoyed the way their eyes glazed over. At least he smelled good at the end of the day he usually joked. That made them laugh, even if they didn't quite understand--or care--what he meant.

The work wasn't extraordinarily difficult, but it wasn't for fucking idiots either. Mickey had suffered through extra training to understand how to fill in spreadsheets and databases, memorize safety protocol, and not curse like a sailor when his manager checked on his progress at three o'clock in the morning.

What he liked about the job was that it was just hard enough that his mind was always busy. He couldn't zone out or check his phone or think about anything else, or he'd risk setting himself on fire or something equally disastrous. In fact, his mind was so busy it was almost like eighteen months had gone by without him even realizing it.

Except when he took his "lunch" break at four AM and ran into Fiona twice a week.

"Hey, Mick," she greeted him. Tonight there was a cupcake with a candle sitting in front of her. Mickey sighed. "You don't look thrilled to be turning twenty-two."

"Oh, it's thrilling," he said, sitting across from her. He should have known Fiona wouldn't let his birthday go unacknowledged. "What's this?"

"Belgian chocolate with nutella filling and ganache frosting." When his eyebrows shot up she beamed at him. "Your sweet tooth is not exactly a state secret."

Mickey bit his lip, trying not to frown. It was nice of her to do this. Mandy had texted him earlier, and Iggy had even called him to sing an absolutely ear-splitting rendition of "Happy Birthday." But sitting with Fiona would probably be the closest thing to a party Mickey was going to get.

"Thanks. You didn't have to." She rolled her eyes and pulled a lighter from her lab coat pocket and lit the candle. Mickey stared at the flame, wondering how he'd even made it to twenty-two at all. If a poll was taken among South Side residents whether Mickey Milkovich was likely to live into his early twenties, it wouldn't have been in his favor. Not even close.

He blew out the candle without bothering to think of a wish. Fiona clapped and let out a weak "yay" before pulling out the candle and shoving the cupcake closer to him. "Now eat it."

As he peeled the liner away and stared at the treat, he could feel Fiona's eyes on him. She was enjoying this way more than she should. But he knew part of it was gratitude. Mickey had gotten her the job on the safety inspection team, and it was a decent one. Health insurance, 401K, and paid sick days off for herself and to care for close relatives. It was worth staying up all night and sleeping for a few hours during daylight to support her family. Mickey knew because he was doing the same thing.

The cupcake was actually pretty incredible. Mickey would never admit it, but he might have moaned when it his tastebuds. Pleasure was pretty hard to come by most days, and this went straight to the top of the list of things that made him feel good.

"Jesus Christ, what's in here? Crack?" he asked with a mouth full of cupcake.

Fiona licked her lips. "I knew I should have gotten two." Mickey held the cupcake out to her, as much as he hated the idea of sharing something so heavenly. "Nah, it's yours. Got it from that Firecakes place. Didn't know they did anything other than donuts."

"You went to fucking River North to get me a  _cupcake_?" That was an hour train ride, round trip, at the very least.

"It's your birthday, Mickey. I knew you weren't going to do anything nice for yourself."

Mickey tried to pace himself, but the cupcake was gone in two more bites. He moaned again. "Thank you. Nothing I eat will ever compare, but I guess it was worth it."

Fiona looked like Mickey had handed her a winning lottery ticket. "Good. You deserve it. So what are you gonna do when you get off today?"

"Uh, go to sleep? Pick up Yevgeny from Svetlana's?"

Fiona's face fell. "Seriously? It's Friday, you don't have to work tomorrow. Go out. Do something twenty-two year olds do."

"I think twenty-two year olds eat cupcakes, so I guess I'm good." He smiled at her as she shook her head. "The toddler's kind of a handicap when it comes to cutting loose. Plus I'll be bone fucking tired."

"Who cares? I can't remember the last time I wasn't tired. I was probably a fetus." Fiona sighed. "Look, go home, take a nap, get Yevgeny, and bring him over to our place. Debbie can watch him and we can, I don't know, go have a drink or something."

Mickey felt his face heat up at the idea of a pity birthday happy hour with Fiona. He'd rather keep trying to potty train Yevgeny and watch a marathon of  _Paw Patrol_. 

"Fiona, I'm fine. I just want to have a normal night."

"No, I'm not letting you. You don't want to party with me, that's fine. But you need to do something." She shuddered. "I hate that I'm saying this to you, but can you just...go get laid or something."

If his face hadn't already been hot, it was now positively on fire. "Oh my god. Don't ever say that to me again. I'm begging you."

Fiona was undeterred by Mickey's total humiliation. "I'm sorry, but it needed to be said. You're too young to be celibate. And as much as I've tried to forget, I know you've got some slutty in you."

Mickey pushed back from the table, nearly sending his chair flying. "I can't talk about this with you. I'm going back to work."

"Fine. But you're bringing the kid over tonight. Or else I'm going to schedule a random safety check every hour for the rest of your shift and tell Verna to join us at the White Swallow."

The idea of Mickey's shift partner, a middle-aged divorcee just itching for a gay BFF, trying to get him to dance in the middle of a place like that was enough to make him promise. Fiona smiled wickedly and sang "Happy Birthday" as Mickey practically ran back to his station. He'd go out, fine, but just to get Fiona off his back. Because twenty-two wasn't really worth celebrating.

***

Every time Mickey was in the Gallagher kitchen he was hit with the worst kind of deja vu. Even though the place was different, less chaotic, he couldn't help but picture himself and Ian sitting at the same table, drinking coffee. It brought him down without fail, but he always tried his hardest not to let the Gallaghers see how much it hurt.

He was sitting at that same table, Yevgeny having been yanked from his arms by Debbie. Yev talked endlessly now, and his new favorite phrase was "oh no." Debbie found it hilarious, parroting his little voice and creating a chorus of "oh nos" that made Mickey want to yell.

Fiona sat across from him and dumped a plastic shopping bag on the table between them. "What's this?" he asked, pushing at the bag with one finger.

"A gift," she said, like it was obvious.

"You already got me a cupcake."

"Oh my god, Mickey, just open it," Debbie said from behind him. 

Yev giggled and repeated, "Oh my god!"

"Great, just what I need, another catchphrase." He pulled open the bag to see a new pair of dark denim jeans and a short-sleeved button down shirt. It was black plaid, with fairly subtle shots of purple. He checked the tags and saw that they were both his size. "How did you?"

"We have our ways," Fiona said. She and Debbie shared a conspiratorial look.

"Relax, would you? You didn't exactly crack a Nazi code. Probably just sneaked a pervy look at my jeans when I was passed out." The busted look on Debbie's face confirmed that he was right. "Look, you didn't have to do this, my clothes are fine."

The women stared at his thin gray t-shirt and worn out jeans with extreme pity. "Oh they're not that bad."

"Mickey, just go change." Fiona waved her hand at the bathroom. Despite his reservations, Mickey couldn't exactly turn down free stuff. Yevgeny was always growing out of everything while Mickey stayed the same. It was hard to justify new jeans when Yev kept looking like he was dressed for a flood every three months.

There was barely room for him to move around in the tiny bathroom. He gave himself a dead arm by slamming his elbow into the towel rack. But when he looked in the crooked mirror at himself he thought he could actually pass for someone who remembered what fun was like.

Mickey held his arms up for inspection when he got out of the bathroom. Fiona squealed and Debbie clapped her hands together. "The shoes!" She ran into the other room and came back hurling a pair of sneakers at Mickey. He barely caught them before they broke his nose.

"I thought you wanted me to get laid, not disfigured," he muttered, turning the black Chuck Taylors over in his hands. "This is too much."

"They got delivered to the vacant house next door. We shoulda sent them back, but they're your size, right?" Debbie wasn't a very good liar, but she looked so happy that Mickey couldn't call her out. He slipped on the sneakers and the girls squealed again in stereo. 

"Can I go now?" Mickey asked. He was starting to get itchy staying in this house too long. He knew Ian rarely visited anymore, but it would be just his luck to see his ex for the first time in two years tonight of all nights.

"You look hot," Debbie said, making Mickey cringe.

"Yeah, I'd do ya," Fiona agreed.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Hey, none of that unless it's from too many birthday shots!" Fiona called out as he opened the back door. "Try to have fun, would ya?"

Mickey waved at the pair of them and Yevgeny appeared between Debbie's legs. He gave Mickey a sweet smile and a "Bye bye, Daddy" that made Mickey run back up the stairs to give him a quick hug. He gave Debbie and Fiona the finger when they aw-ed. 

For the first time in a while, Mickey actually didn't feel terrible about his night. There would be no Nick, Jr. or diaper changes, none of which he really minded anymore. But for once he had the freedom, and, okay, maybe a little bit of the necessary confidence to try to have a good time.

It would take an hour by train to get to Boystown, so when a cab drove towards him Mickey pretended it was fate and flagged it down. He knew the 25 minute ride would cost him, but he'd rather be hammered on the way back, than anxious on the way there. The chance of his turning back was too great.

The neighborhood looked the same as he remembered it, but it always looked less bleak in the summertime. People gathered in little groups on the sidewalk, screaming at each other and cracking jokes. There was also a lot of skin on display, most of it in pretty decent shape. 

Mickey walked up to a bar he'd heard about on the radio. It was new, known more for its dizzying selection of craft beers rather than dancers in sparkly shorts. The vibe inside was more inviting than Mickey was expecting. The music was loud, but not deafening, and the crowd was relatively young, looking like guys around Mickey's age up to mid-thirties. Not a pair of sparkly shorts in sight.

Mickey found a seat at the far end of the bar between two separate groups of guys. One of them was clearly a birthday party, the man of the hour surrounded by small gift bags and empty shot glasses. Mickey felt a twinge of jealousy before remembering that he should be grateful he was even out of the apartment.

He flagged down a bartender without much trouble, another plus. And as he waited for his IPA, he looked around at the rest of the bar. All the booths were full to bursting with groups of friends. The smaller tables in the middle of the room looked filled with a mix of first dates and long-term couples. Two guys in particular caught his eye. They were both watching the White Sox game on the TV over his head, absentmindedly holding hands across the table. When the Sox made a great save, they raised their joined hands triumphantly and clinked their beers together. 

Just when Mickey felt that familiar tug of woe-is-me threaten to have him bolt for the door, the bartender set his beer on the bar in front of him.

"Hey, not to be a dick, but I forgot to check your ID." The guy looked apologetic, but didn't take his hand off the beer. Mickey nodded and pulled out his wallet, handing over his license. "Shit, it's your birthday! Happy birthday!"

The beer slid toward him and Mickey caught it. "Thanks, man."

"Hold on," the bartender said, holding up a finger. He disappeared to the other end of the bar and then came back with a shot glass and a bottle of Basil Hayden. "Birthday shot?"

"Sure," Mickey said, accepting the whiskey. The guy poured one for himself and held it out for Mickey to cheers. Mickey felt the whiskey burn smooth down his throat. It was good shit. "Thanks."

"Let me know if you want another one," he said, before disappearing again.

Mickey started to take a sip of his beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the birthday boy from the group next to him.

"Is it your birthday, too?" the guy asked. All his friends turned to look at Mickey expectantly.

"Uh, yeah. Happy birthday, I guess."

"Happy birthday! I'm Jerome," the guy said, happily. He hit one of his friends on the shoulder. "Get us more shots. It's our fucking birthday."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Mickey said. He held up his beer. "I'm good."

"Are you by yourself?" one of the friends asked, sounding horrified. Before Mickey could answer there was another shot in his hand, this time something clear. 

"Cheers!" Jerome yelled, hitting Mickey's fingers with his shot glass. Mickey cringed, but threw back the shot anyway. It was vodka, and not exactly as high end as the whiskey he'd been given.

"What's your name, fellow birthday boy? And do not tell me how old you are, I can tell you are so much younger than I am. I cannot deal with it, I swear to God," Jerome said. Mickey wondered how long they'd been out, since Jerome seemed to be feeling no pain.

"It's Mickey," he told him.

"Mickey. I like it," Jerome's friend said. Jerome nodded like he'd given it to Mickey. "You're cute, Mickey. Like, you could probably kick my ass, but in a hot way."

Mickey had no idea how to respond to that and chose instead to take a huge gulp of his beer. Luckily a new friend joined the group and everyone was distracted, turning their backs to Mickey.

Mickey quickly turned to face the stools to his other side, hoping Jerome and his friends would just forget he was there. What he saw made him want to grab an entire bottle of cheap vodka and knock himself unconscious with it.

Fucking Ian.

His mouth was suddenly bone dry and his reflexes were nonexistent. He should have turned back to Jerome, or hit the floor and crawled out of the bar. But he just sat there, staring at the unfairly gorgeous redhead that he hadn't seen since they'd broken up in front of Ian's doctor in a psychiatric hospital.

As if he could hear Mickey starting to mentally unravel, Ian looked up and did a double-take. He mouthed Mickey's name in total disbelief. Mickey still did nothing, his mouth hanging open, the beer in his hand threatening to slip to the floor.

Ian shook his head and got up from his bar stool. One of his friends called his name, but he didn't acknowledge it. He closed the gap between them and Mickey finally moved, turning around in his seat to face Ian.

They stared at each other for what felt like a year. Mickey felt himself starting to blush, from the combination of the alcohol and Ian's blatant inventory of his face and body. They were interrupted when Jerome's birthday bash called Mickey's name.

Mickey's head whipped to the side. "What?" he growled. 

Jerome only cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Shot, hello?" he said, holding out a drink for Mickey.

Mickey gave him a tight smile and threw it back quickly, handing Jerome the empty glass. Jerome patted Mickey on the head. "Good job, birthday boy."

"It's your birthday," Ian said when Mickey turned back to him. Mickey nodded. "Happy birthday, Mick."

The use of 'Mick' made Mickey want to throw himself at Ian. Or cry. Or both. God, how had he gotten so fucking drunk already? He needed to start drinking at home, build up his tolerance again.

Ian's friends called his name, breaking their eye contact again. "Fuck off," Ian yelled back. He looked Mickey in the eye. "You want to go for a walk with me?"

"Yes," Mickey heard himself say without even thinking about it. He got up and threw a twenty on the bar behind him. He heard Jerome and his friends call out, "Bye, Mickey" as he left. He waved awkwardly, but didn't look, not wanting to lose sight of Ian.

When they got outside, Ian looked lost. He spun around, as if some obvious place for them would appear.

"Wanna just walk?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah, right," Ian said. He jerked his head to the left and Mickey shrugged.

They walked side by side in silence until they were a few blocks away from the noise of the bars. There was a cluster of office buildings with a courtyard in the center. Mickey spotted some benches, most of which were occupied by sleeping homeless people. But there was one under a street lamp with no one sitting on it.

Ian seemed to see it at the same time and motioned towards it. Mickey nodded and they walked over and sat down, still without saying a word.

Mickey looked up at the buildings and the pitch black sky above them. He had no idea what to say to Ian and was afraid what would come out if he opened his mouth.

"This is fucking weird," Ian said. Mickey looked over at him. "Right, it's weird?"

"Yeah, pretty fucking weird," Mickey agreed. They both fell silent again.

Mickey had so many questions, but he was terrified of asking even one. He'd worked pretty hard to make peace with losing Ian two years ago. He'd nearly convinced himself he didn't need any answers from Ian. But now that he was sitting next to him, he couldn't remember how he'd come to that conclusion.

"Mickey," Ian started. "I'm so sorry the way things ended."

"You are?" Mickey was surprised. Ian hadn't really seemed that sorry two years ago. He seemed mostly relieved, if Mickey recalled correctly.

"Of course. I hated that it had to happen that way." He looked genuinely upset. Mickey felt so confused and his brain felt like it was struggling to keep up.

"But...then why did you do it? Why did you leave me?" God, Mickey hated how pathetic he sounded, but he couldn't stop it. "What did I do wrong?"

"What did you?" Ian shook his head. "Mickey, you didn't  _do_ anything. It wasn't about you."

"How could it not have been  _about_ me?" 

"It was about me, Mick. Just me. I needed to figure out who I was, how I was going to  _live_  with who I was."

Mickey wanted to scream. "And you couldn't do that with me?"

"No. I couldn't do it with anybody." Ian sighed. "It's hard to explain properly."

"Yeah," Mickey agreed. His chest burned with sudden anger. "I don't fucking get it. I did everything to try to help you. I was there for you every second. I changed my  _entire life_ for you." Mickey realized he was crying, but he couldn't be bothered to care. It felt like a crater had opened up inside him and the pain was unreal.

"Mickey..." Ian put a hand on Mickey's knee, but Mickey shoved it off.

"Don't touch me," he spit. "I loved you. You were my whole fucking world and you didn't even care." Mickey covered his face in his hands and cried harder. He felt lifted back in time to that awful day, alone in the bathroom, humiliated, crushed, heart broken into a thousand pieces. He remembered the long bus ride home, back to his miserable life made even more unbearable with no Ian in it. He thought about the amount of time he spent alone in bed not sleeping, trying to figure out what he could have done or said differently to make Ian stay.

Ian started rubbing his back and saying his name softly. Mickey wanted to shove him off the bench, but it felt so good. It had been so long since he'd felt Ian's hands on him. It felt so good that it hurt. He was so weak, he couldn't even push away the man who'd utterly broken him.

After a few minutes, Ian pulled on one of Mickey's hands, uncovering his face. Mickey pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, reminded of Fiona and the way she'd been there for him. And what she'd said, how she didn't think it was over for good. For two years he'd been secretly hating her for giving him that tiny kernel of hope. Now he just hated himself for actually believing she was right.

Ian held Mickey's hand in his own and Mickey stared down at their hands together.

"Mickey, I can't change what happened. I wish I could have done it without hurting you." Mickey looked at Ian's face and saw that Ian was near tears himself. "It hurt me, too. It hurt me more than you'll ever know."

"How? I need you to tell me how bad it hurt."

Ian bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flashing. "You need me to prove that it hurt to leave you?"

"Yes."

"Fuck you, Mickey."

Mickey pulled back like he'd been slapped. "Fuck me? Seriously?"

"Yeah, fuck you." Ian wiped away a tear that slid down his cheek and took his hand away from Mickey's. "You think it wasn't fucking agony to decide that I needed to let you go? Do you know how many hours I spent crying and fucking screaming at Dr. Kadorian, trying to figure out a way I could get better and still be with you?"

"I don't--"

"No, you fucking don't, Mickey. It was hell. I already hated myself more than anything. I wanted to fucking die and that was  _before_  having to rip your heart out. I was crawling out of my own skin every minute of every day." He wiped his face with both hands. Mickey wanted him to stop, but couldn't say a word. He hated how miserable Ian looked, it wasn't what he wanted anymore. 

"I needed to be a whole person, Mickey. By myself. Not with you, not with Fiona, not Lip, or Debbie, or Carl, or even fucking Frank. I needed to start from scratch and figure out how I was going to be  _me_. How I was going to be strong enough to take my meds even when my mind told me I didn't need to. How I was going to make sure to get a full night's sleep and a normal amount of exercise every day, without fail even when I either didn't want to sleep at all or didn't want to get out of bed. How I was going to tell the difference between the voices that were actually there and what was just in my fucking head. I needed to do all that, and I needed to do it myself, with no responsibilities or thoughts about anything or anyone else. Or it wouldn't work. I couldn't do it, Mickey."

Ian shook his head, tears still running freely down his face. Mickey was crying again, too. Every word had felt like a knife stabbing his heart.

"I just." Mickey tried to take a deep breath. "I just thought you didn't want me anymore."

Ian's face crumpled. "You were all I wanted. Always."

Mickey lost it. He barely covered his face again before he was sobbing. He thought for a split second how ridiculous they must look, how anyone walking by would think they were just two drunk guys in a fight.

"Mickey," Ian said, sounding choked. He shook Mickey by the shoulder. "You have to stop, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Like he'd predicted it, Mickey felt his stomach roll. He shot up and spotted a planter directly across from them. Bracing his hands on the concrete, he bent over and heaved all the alcohol and his dinner into it. He felt Ian's hand on his back, barely able to feel embarrassed for a second before he was throwing up again. He coughed a few times and spit what he could out of his mouth. When he stood up, he panicked, wondering how he would clean himself up. But Ian had a small pile or bar napkins and was holding them out. Mickey took them gratefully and wiped his face as best he could. 

"Want to go get a water or something?" Ian asked. Mickey nodded. His throat hurt and his eyes burned. They walked across the street toward a 24-hour convenience store. Mickey sat on the sidewalk, feet in the gutter, while Ian went inside. He put his pounding head in his hands, wondering how the fuck his night had ended up here. 

Ian returned a few minutes later with two waters, holding one out to Mickey. Mickey twisted it open and took a huge swig. "Hey, slow down," Ian counseled. But Mickey was just swishing the water around in his mouth. He spit it out away from Ian, then took a small sip and swallowed. Ian held out a pack of gum to him. Mickey took two pieces and shoved them into his mouth. The mint soothed his stomach a bit.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I don't drink much anymore."

"It's fine," Ian said absently. They sat quietly, drinking their waters. Mickey didn't know how to get back to what they'd been talking about. He was so tired.

"Mickey, I know it was terrible, okay?" Ian said. Mickey looked up at him, wondering how Ian kept finding things to say that stunned him. "It was so awful. It hurt so bad. And I know how much it hurt you, too. Believe me, my family was fucking pissed." Ian laughed bitterly. "Fiona ripped me a new one at our family session. I wanted to fucking kill her."

That sounded like Fiona, though she'd never mentioned Ian to Mickey again after that day. "Sorry," he said.

"No, I'm sorry, that's not on you. We dealt with it." Ian shook his head. "I can't believe you all thought I was just being an asshole, ya know? Like it didn't feel like I was ripping my own heart out?" Ian was crying a little again,  but Mickey couldn't anymore. 

"I guess, I guess I wasn't sure who you were anymore at that point," Mickey admitted. "Was I meeting the real Ian for the first time or a new Ian? I didn't know. It all just happened so fast. And...I just wanted us to be happy. For like a minute." Mickey remembered waking up the morning of Ian's crash, thinking for a little while that this was finally it. They were finally going to just fucking be together. He wasn't sure he ever got over the disappointment that they didn't have that.

"I understand," Ian said. Mickey looked at Ian's face. He did look like he understood. Mickey felt this surge of warmth in his chest. Ian was always understanding, always kind, always cared about him. How could he think Ian was just brushing him off like he was nothing?

"I'm so sorry, Ian. I don't know what else to say," he admitted. He leaned close to Ian, bumping their shoulders together. Ian turned to him and pressed his mouth to Mickey's, so softly it felt like it almost didn't happen. Ian rested his forehead against Mickey's and, yup, Mickey was crying again. "You have no idea how badly I wanted you to do that two years ago," he said.

"That was the hardest thing I ever fucking did. Not kissing you," Ian told him. "But I knew I wouldn't be able to stop." This time Mickey leaned forward and kissed him, keeping his mouth closed, trying not to think how he'd just thrown up everywhere. Ian kissed him back for a minute, then pulled away.

"Was there ever anyone else?" Ian asked. "After?" 

"What?" Mickey asked, feeling stupid. 

"Did you date anyone? Since then?"

"Fuck no. How could I--?" Mickey sputtered, trying to articulate how idiotic that was. "I don't know how to  _date_  anyone. I know how to--" Ian looked at him expectantly. "I know how to be yours. That's all I know."

Something dawned in Ian's eyes and Mickey wanted to suck the words back into this mouth. It was clearly the wrong thing to say. "Mickey, we can't do this..."

"No!" Mickey cried. "You can't leave again."

"Right now, Mickey. We can't do this right now," Ian finished gently. 

Mickey opened and closed his mouth like a fish trying to breathe air on dry land. He couldn't believe he was this close to Ian,  _kissing_ Ian, and Ian was going to walk away again.

"Why?" he managed to choke out. "I still love you," he whispered. 

"I love you, too," Ian said sadly. "But, Mickey, I don't think we're ready yet. You need--and I need--to experience more. Just, I don't know,  _more_. I can't be the only thing you ever know. It's not fair."

"But if it's  _right_?"

"If it's right, then it'll happen. But not right now." Ian frowned. "Mickey, I know you think I broke you, but I didn't."

"How do you know?" Mickey growled. "You weren't there."

"Debbie told me. And Fiona." Mickey shook his head, stunned. "I ask them about you, all the time. I know you don't ask about me." Ian sighed. "That doesn't matter though. They told me when you got your GED and the job you have. And divorcing Svetlana. I was so proud of you."

Mickey wanted to tell him that he only did it for Ian's sake. For the totally fucked up hope that maybe if Mickey got his shit together, Ian would come back. 

"I'm still proud of you. Mickey, you might have cracked a little. I did, too. But we didn't break."

Mickey hung his head. He could tell there was going to be no convincing Ian that he was ready. That all he ever wanted was sitting right next to him and he didn't need to fucking  _date_ anyone else to know that.

"Who in their right mind is going to want to date this?" Mickey asked, finally, gesturing to himself.

"God, you were always so fucking  _mean_  to yourself," Ian said. "Anybody would be lucky to be with you, Mickey. I fell in love with you for a reason, and it wasn't just your ass or your fucking attitude." He smiled. "You think you're not fucking sweet sometimes? You think I never noticed how much you cared about shit? About me?"

Mickey shook his head. "That's  _you_."

"No, Mick, it's you, too. You're not a piece of shit, okay?" Ian took a deep breath. "Look, I'm not gonna pump you up all night. This is for you to figure out." He stood up and held his hand out to Mickey. Mickey took it and let Ian pull him until they were standing practically chest to chest.

"So, what? I go on a bunch of shitty dates and then we can try again?"

Ian rolled his eyes. "This isn't a movie. I'm not gonna give you a number of people you have to fuck before I date you again."

Mickey bit his lip. That was exactly what he was hoping Ian would do. "Okay," he said. 

"I'm glad we talked," Ian said. He put his hand to the side of Mickey's face and Mickey leaned into his touch. "I have hope for us, Mick, I promise."

Mickey looked into Ian's eyes, trying to figure out if he was lying. He didn't think he was.

"Let's get you a cab," Ian said, pulling out his phone. Mickey spotted the Uber app and Ian handed Mickey the phone so he could put in his address. Their hands touched briefly and Mickey felt a charge go through him. When he handed it back he was careful not to let it happen again.

The car would be there in only a few minutes. "What are you going to do?" Mickey asked.

"Go back to the bar, I guess," Ian said. "My friends are probably pissed at me for just leaving."

Mickey nodded. He saw headlights coming toward them and wished they weren't coming for him.

"Happy birthday, Mick," Ian said. He gave Mickey a small, sad smile. 

"Can I ask you for something?" Mickey said. Ian nodded, looking unsure. "Can you kiss me? Just. I just need one more."

Ian closed his eyes and laughed. "Just one?"

"If you're giving out more..." Mickey trailed off. The car was alongside them and he motioned for the driver to wait. "Please?"

"Okay, Mickey," Ian said. He put his hand on the back of Mickey's head and pulled him forward. Their lips touched and Mickey felt like someone had put a match there and now his whole body was slowly catching fire. Ian opened his mouth and Mickey did, too, neither of them caring anymore that the gum hadn't done much for the awful taste in Mickey's mouth. How could anyone ever make Mickey feel anything close to this? 

He would have kissed Ian forever, given up breathing and eating and any other essential functions. But Ian pulled away. Mickey tasted salt in his mouth and realized he was crying again. God, he needed to stop fucking crying.

Ian brushed the tears off of Mickey's face gently. "Ya gotta go, Mick. Car's waiting."

"Yeah," Mickey said. He bit his lip and looked up at Ian, praying he wasn't looking into those green eyes for the last time. "G'night."

"Night, Mick."

Mickey got into the backseat of the car and the driver shifted out of park. Mickey looked out the window and saw Ian had his hand up. Mickey waved and the car pulled away. He leaned his head against the window, not looking back, knowing it would be too hard to watch Ian disappear.

He slept a little on the way home and realized only when the driver was dropping it off that Ian had paid for him to get home, the beauty of Uber. He felt terrible for taking Ian's money, especially not knowing his situation. 

When he finally crawled into bed after brushing his teeth, washing his face, and drinking about half a gallon of water, he felt like he could sleep for a year. He sent a quick text to Fiona and Debbie to tell them he was home and that he'd pick Yev up in the morning. They both wrote back with fifty emojis and happy birthdays.

He stared up at the ceiling and tried to take inventory of his feelings. Tired, duh. Shell shocked, obviously. Maybe a little bit lighter? It didn't make him feel better exactly to know that Ian had been in just as much pain as he had been. But it made thinking about the last two years a little less horrible. He turned over and pulled the extra pillow into his chest.

He'd have to think about it more when he was sober, after he'd slept. But maybe Ian was right. He imagined a future where they both resented each other for never experiencing anything else. Wondering if there could have been something better, or just something else. He didn't want that, for himself or for Ian. He wanted them to be sure.

Sleep snuck up on him, he didn't even remember when he stopped thinking about Ian and woke up thinking about how badly he just needed to pee. The clock read 7:45 and he groaned. It was more sleep than he'd gotten in a while, but it still didn't feel like enough. When he brushed his teeth and considered his reflection, he thought about how surreal the night before had been. Did it really happen? 

On the walk to the Gallaghers', he went over his conversation with Ian again in his mind. He mostly wanted to go back in time and slap his past self for forgetting how wonderful Ian was. For thinking for even a minute that Ian was just done with him, ready to move on. Did he really have such shitty self esteem that he believed that? The answer, sadly, was pretty obvious. 

The back door was unlocked and Mickey let himself in. Yev was sitting in a high chair at the kitchen table, mashing a plate of pancakes into mush with his hands. He squealed when he saw Mickey, and Mickey couldn't resist kissing one of his fat little cheeks.

Fiona was standing at the counter, drinking a cup of coffee. She smiled at him. "Want some? You look like you need it."

"Understatement of the year," he said, sitting down heavily next to Yevgeny. He plucked a piece of pancake that was still intact off Yev's plate and popped into his mouth. Yev whined for a second, but quickly went back to wreaking havoc instead of eating. "He okay last night?"

Fiona came around the counter, holding a steaming mug of black coffee. She set it down and took a seat across from him. "I don't know what deal you made with the devil, Mickey, but this kid is a fucking dream." Mickey nodded. He don't know how he got so lucky either. If Yevgeny had been just a fraction fussy or difficult, he probably would have just left him with Svetlana and never looked back.

"Thanks for watching him. And making me go out."

Fiona narrowed her eyes at him. "You have a good night? Ya throw up after all?" She grinned and laughed when Mickey made a face.

"You don't even want to know," he said vaguely. He took a sip of the coffee and reveled in the burn down in his throat. "Guess we should get going, right, tough guy?" He poked at Yev's belly with one finger and Yev squirmed happily.

"What's the rush?" Fiona asked, standing up again. She went over to the sink and started rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. Mickey watched her, wondering how he got to this point. Five, six years ago he and Fiona thought so little of each other, none of it good. Now he wasn't sure what he would have done without her. He took another drink of coffee and sighed.

How the fuck was he going to figure out how to  _date_  people? He thought for a second about asking for Fiona's advice, but then thought better of it. He didn't want her to feel torn between him and Ian as she probably had without telling him for the past two years. He appreciated the way she and Debbie and god knows how many other Gallaghers had protected his feelings like he was their own.

He got up from the table, patting Yev on the head as he rounded the counter. He tapped Fiona on the shoulder as she put the last dish in the washer. She pulled off her rubber gloves and tossed them in the sink.

"What?" she asked, looking at him. "Something wrong? You hungry or something?"

"No, just shut up, okay?" He pulled her into probably the most awkward hug she had ever received. She laughed loudly in his ear when she realized what he was trying to do.

"My god, did any Milkoviches ever get hugged? Once in your life?"

"Why would you even ask me that?" he mumbled. She sighed and shifted her arms around until she was hugging him back and it didn't feel so weird. He squeezed her a little tighter, wishing he'd asked Ian for one of these, too. They never did that enough. If he ever got another chance at it, he'd remember to hug Ian more.

Yev started fake crying after a minute, clearly put out that no one was hugging him.

"Sorry, buddy, you'll get one, too," Mickey said, pulling away from Fiona. She wiped her eyes, seemingly surprised by her own reaction.

"You gonna start a new Milkovich tradition?" she said.

Mickey rolled his eyes and picked Yevgeny up out of his chair. Yev put his arms around Mickey's neck. "Probably should, huh?"

Fiona looked at him, her eyes still shining. 

Mickey picked up Yev's little backpack where it was sitting by the door. He turned back to Fiona and put his hand on the door. "Thanks," he said. 

"For what?" she asked, seeming to understand it wasn't for the babysitting or the new clothes.

"Too much, probably," he said, and walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently I couldn't just leave that fic where it was. Sorry for all the crying I caused. I think this is a little less painful, but not by as much as people probably want. But! I already have plans for one last part, so don't be too sad when it's over.


	3. Please Don't Hold Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey tries to move on, and it's both easier and harder than he thinks it's going to be.

Mickey lifted himself up with his knees and hands on Donovan's firm shoulders. He kept their mouths connected as he ground down on the other man's lap. Donovan groaned and gripped Mickey by the back of the neck, thrusting his tongue roughly into Mickey's mouth. 

It surprised him, but Mickey was actually feeling  _good_. Almost comfortable even. It was Donovan's first time at his place, Yevgeny was at his mother's. They had intended to watch a movie, but ended up starting to make out only about ten minutes in. Now Mickey was straddling Donovan, trying to figure out how to get his pants off without actually standing up. 

Donovan pulled away from him and Mickey looked at his handsome face. Mickey's hand was on Donovan's neck and the contrast in their skin was one of his new favorite things. Donovan was dark and smooth, kept his head shaved. He had blindingly white teeth, so white Mickey was always on the verge of asking how the fuck he kept them that way. Mandy had the same question when he finally got around to texting her a photo. She'd also called him up and laughed about how it was pretty sick that they seemed to have the exact same taste in men. "Black guys and Ian Gallagher," she said. "Who'd've thought?"

And there it was, Ian thought number one. It was bound to happen eventually as it always did. But Donovan's deep voice broke him out of his trance.

"Can we move this to your room?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Mickey stood and Donovan followed him down the short hallway, one hand on Mickey's waist.

When Donovan was finally on top of him, the two of them down to their boxers, Mickey wondered if tonight would be the night they finally fucked. They'd fooled around plenty in the month they'd been dating. Lots of dry humping, more than a few blow jobs, and one rim job that had Mickey thinking his eyes might end up permanently crossed. But both of them were single dads and Donovan had offered up pretty quickly that he was trying to stop being a total whore. He'd actually said those words and it had made Mickey laugh pretty hard. It was the point that he realized he might actually be able to  _like_  this guy. _  
_

Donovan was tugging on Mickey's boxers. Mickey licked his lower lip, suddenly a tiny bit nervous. "What do you think?" Donovan asked. Mickey didn't trust his voice to answer, so he just bit down on his lip and nodded. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Mickey said gruffly, lifting up to kiss Donovan hard. While he was doing that, he reached for the drawer in his nightstand and fumbled around looking for the lube he kept there. When he finally grabbed it and tried to push it into Donovan's hands, Donovan broke the kiss.

"Nah, I want to watch you do it."

Mickey sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Mickey wasn't thrilled at the idea of prepping himself while Donovan watched. It felt too  _intimate_  or something. Exposed. But he didn't feel like arguing about it. He coated a finger while Donovan leaned back to get a better look.

"God, you're fucking hot, you know that?" he said reverently. Mickey tried not to roll his eyes. What was his problem? This wasn't a big deal, it was supposed to be fun. He gave himself a little mental kick and slipped another finger inside himself. Donovan groaned and bit at Mickey's lower lip. Mickey gasped when he accidentally hit that spot inside himself that made sparks go off.

Before he could react, Donovan was pulling Mickey's hand away and replacing it with his own. Mickey sighed when Donovan's longer fingers got to places Mickey couldn't on his own. They moaned and rutted against each other, Mickey reaching down to start jerking Donovan off. Donovan pulled his hand out of Mickey and stilled him.

"Don't, fuck, or I'm gonna come."

"Kinda the point, right?" Mickey said, smiling. Donovan smiled back and shook his head.

"Not before I fuck you." His words went right to Mickey's cock.

"Well fucking get to it then, would ya?" Donovan grinned and Mickey reached back into his nightstand, handing Donovan a condom.

Mickey ended up on all fours, bracing on his forearms as Donovan pounded into him. He had a huge fucking dick and Mickey would be lying if he said it didn't hurt at first. But Donovan couldn't see his face, so he just kept slamming into him until Mickey was panting and barely hanging on.

When Mickey finally came he felt like his orgasm was getting ripped out of him. His vision went dark around the edges as Donovan kept going, chasing his own. It didn't take too much longer before they were both on their backs, covered in sweat and lube. Mickey shifted uncomfortably and shoved Donovan over.

"Let me get out of the fucking wet spot." Donovan laughed and then groaned as he pulled off the condom at tied it off, dropping it onto the floor.  _Gross_ , Mickey thought, but didn't say anything. He'd just have to remember to pick it up later.

"Worth the wait?" Donovan asked after they'd both caught their breath.

Mickey laughed. "Yeah, sure." He smiled at Donovan, who was looking pretty proud of himself.

"I should probably get going," he said, looking past Mickey at the clock on the nightstand.

"Oh, okay," Mickey replied, watching Donovan get up and start gathering up his clothes and putting them on. He sat up, too, and pulled on his boxers, feeling a little sore already. His thighs were going to fucking hurt in the morning.

"I have to pick Kira up pretty early from her mom's." Donovan had a seven year old daughter. He'd gotten his ex pregnant when they were just seventeen.

"How'd that happen anyway?" Mickey asked. He knew Donovan had always had girlfriends, tried to convince himself he could be straight, but was always fucking guys on the side no matter how hard he tried to stop.

"How Kira was born?" Mickey nodded. "I thought having sex with a girl with no condom would make it better or something. Make me like it more."

Mickey understood. He'd asked Angie Zago to do that once, but as much as people thought she was, she was anything but stupid.

"What about you?" Donovan said, sitting on the bed to put his socks on. Mickey pulled his knees to his chest instinctively. Donovan knew that he and Svetlana had been a one-time thing, but he didn't know any other details.

"Long, fucked up story," Mickey said, not really willing to share. "No condom though, obviously."

Donovan looked disappointed, like he could tell Mickey was holding back. But he kept putting on his shoes anyway, not pressing the issue. When he was fully dressed he leaned in, kissing Mickey briefly on the mouth. Mickey felt guilty, but couldn't figure out exactly why.

After Donovan left, he stripped the bed, nearly stepping on the used condom in the process. He went to the basement of his building to run a load of laundry and stayed down there to wait, texting Mandy out of boredom. She didn't write him back, so he went down the list, trying Iggy, and finally Debbie until he got a response.

 _what's up?_  Debbie replied.

_Nothing, just bored. What are you doing?_

_On a date! :)_

Mickey smiled. Good for her.  _Have fun._

She sent another emoji and he didn't write her again. He went back up to his apartment and cleaned up a bit more, shutting off the TV and straightening the couch cushions. He had to pick up Yevgeny in the morning, too, so he decided after the laundry was done he'd just go to bed.

After he'd put the clean sheets on the bed and climbed in, he saw Mandy had finally written him back.

 _Sorry, rough night._  

Frowning, Mickey wrote her back.  _Want me to call you?_

_Nah, just want to go to sleep. Night, Mick._

_Night._

Mandy had been in Indianapolis since before Ian had even gotten out of the hospital. She wasn't with Kenyatta anymore, but the new guy didn't seem like much of an improvement. He wished his sister had someone like Ian to push her to make herself happy. He tried, but he knew he just wasn't good at it or wasn't the right person for her to hear it from.

Mickey laid back in bed and felt a pang of loneliness. He hadn't really wanted Donovan to stay over. But the thought of not waking up by himself, or at least with someone who didn't wet the bed, sounded pretty nice. He shut off the light and tried to get comfortable. His body ached sort of pleasantly, muscles he hadn't used in a while feeling stretched. For a second he thought about texting Fiona to tell her her prayers had been answered, he was no longer a born again virgin. But he resisted, knowing she'd just ask him graphic questions until he never wanted to look her in the eye again.

The next morning Mickey felt even more sore, but waking up alone made it seem less of a good thing. He showered and dressed and walked the ten minutes over to Svetlana's apartment she shared with her girlfriend. She'd broken up with Nika more than a year earlier, and had moved in pretty shortly after with a woman named Anya. She was actually kind of nice, which surprised the shit out of Mickey. He thought Svetlana preferred crazy. Maybe they were both growing up a little.

When Svetlana answered the door, Yevgeny was racing by behind her. "He eats too much sugar," she said, instead of a greeting.

"Who was feeding him for the past two days? Not me," Mickey said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

Yev slammed into Mickey's legs and jumped up onto his feet. He reached up for Mickey's hands, wanting Mickey to walk with Yev's feet on top of his. It was a trick Carl had taught him and now Yev almost didn't want to walk on his own anymore. Mickey sighed and gave in, walking the two of them over to the kitchen table where Svetlana was packing up the last of his toys.

Mickey lifted Yev up by his arms and settled the three-year-old on his hip. She looked at Mickey, quirking her mouth at him.

"You look different. Something happened," she said. It wasn't a question, so Mickey didn't answer. "Ah," she said, after a second. "You finally get laid."

"Oh my god," Mickey said, putting Yev back on the floor where he promptly ran off. "Don't start, okay?"

"Who is he?" Mickey shook his head. "He has a big dick, yes? That's your type."

"Jesus Christ," Mickey muttered. "Yev! Let's go." Yevgeny peeked around the corner, an exaggerated frown on his face and tears already forming. Lately he hated saying goodbye to anyone.

"No leave," he said.

"Yes leave," Mickey responded, slinging Yev's backpack over his shoulder and reaching down for the little boy. Yev twisted to get away from him, but Mickey was anticipating the move.

"Ah ah ah," Svetlana chided, putting her hand under Yev's chin. "Be good. I see you in a few days." She kissed Yev on both cheeks while Mickey held him. They walked towards the door and she put a hand on Mickey's arm. "Is good for you. To be with someone."

He looked at her, trying to decide if she was being genuine. As usual, she was unreadable. "Thanks, I guess. But it's not serious or anything."

"Of course not. Is not Orange Boy." She smiled softly, taking the sting out of the words. He sighed. He might be able to kid himself, but he could never fool her.

"Yeah, well," he said uselessly. "Ready, kid?" Yev whined loudly in his face. "Okay, say goodbye to Mommy."

"No!" 

Svetlana and Mickey rolled their eyes at each other, and she closed the door behind them. Yevgeny cried crocodile tears for the first few blocks before giving up. Mickey tried to put him down so he could walk himself, but Yev whined.

"Pal, ya have to walk. I can't carry you the whole way." Yev whined again and Mickey shook his head. "I would never have gotten away with this shit, buddy. Just so you know." Yev made a face at him and Mickey laughed. "I probably wasn't as cute as you though."

By the time they got back to the apartment, Yev had perked up and actually walked himself up the stairs. He accepted Mickey's peace offering snack and Mickey let him watch cartoons while he ate. The rest of their day was quiet. Yev played with his few toys and forced Mickey to watch the same episode of  _Doc McStuffins_  three times. When he started conking out in the middle of the afternoon, Mickey scooped him up and headed for Yev's room.

"Nooooo," Yev whined when they were in front of Mickey's door. "Your room."

"My room? No, let's go to your room." But Yev shot out a little hand and grabbed the frame of Mickey's door. "You know what, fine. Whatever you want, kid, I'm not gonna fight ya."

As soon as he was in bed, Yevgeny pulled his pants off. Mickey was actually surprised that he still had them on, he never met anyone who hated pants so much. Mickey started to tuck him in when Yev was making cranky noises again. "What now?"

"You stay." Yev pouted and pulled back the sheet Mickey had just tucked around him.

"Fine." Mickey unbuttoned and shoved off his own pants. If he was going to get bossed around by a toddler, he was going to be fucking comfortable. He climbed into bed next to Yev and pulled the covers around both of them. "Happy now?"

Yev smiled and blinked super slow. "Oof, slow blink, kid. You're on your way out." Yev tried to fight it, but another one came and then he was gone. Mickey laughed quietly to himself. Kids were like kittens, sleep always won no matter how hard they tried to beat it.

Mickey turned on his side to face Yev fully. He was getting bigger every day, but he was still so small. His hair was lighter than Mickey's, probably from Svetlana. Who knew what color her hair really was? And he was fair, but not as pasty as Mickey either. He had a light dusting of freckles like him though, and the same blue eyes and lips that were just this side of too big for his face. It was weird to look at another person and see yourself. 

Mickey's eyes did their own slow blink and he decided to surrender to the nap. At least this time, he wouldn't be waking up alone.

***

At work the following Monday, Mickey was having a pretty normal day. He'd been moved to the first shift a few months earlier, a kind of promotion. It was nice, being awake during the day and asleep at night like a normal person. And he'd been given the added responsibility of helping to train new hires on his station. It wasn't easy, he wasn't exactly the most patient instructor, but he was getting better.

On his break he went into the lunch room and found Fiona. She'd been promoted around the same time and was also thrilled to be living the daytime life again.

"Hey, Mickey," she said. "How's things?"

He grabbed his lunch out of the fridge and joined her at the table. She was wiping her hands with a napkin, nearly done with her salad.

"Same old, same old," he said and laughed at himself. "I sound like one of these old fucks around here."

"It's catching," she said. "You want to get dinner tonight? Debbie and Carl are taking Liam to see some kid movie, gave me the night off."

Mickey cringed. He'd just made plans with Donovan to have dinner. "Can't. Sorry. Another night?"

She smiled and patted his hand. "Sure, no big deal. You got a date or something?"

Now Mickey felt the color drain from his face. He hadn't told Fiona he was seeing anyone, didn't want to bring it up.

"Holy shit, Mickey, don't have a heart attack." She laughed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He picked at his finger nails, not wanting to look at her. "I don't know. Felt weird."

"I guess it is kinda weird." Mickey looked up at her. She looked a little sad, but not upset with him. He should have known she'd get it. "I'm happy for you, Mick. What's he like?"

"I don't know, uh, nice, I guess." Mickey was at a loss to describe Donovan without comparing him to Ian. It didn't feel fair. 

"Nice is good. I should try nice one of these days."

"You should," Mickey said and meant it. "How are you doing these days?" He felt like he rarely remembered to ask Fiona about herself, since she was always checking on him.

She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. "I try not to think about it too hard. Things are what they are." She looked around. "I have a job anyway, putting food on the table, paying the bills. That's something, right?"

"It's a fucking lot."

"Yeah," she said quietly. They were quiet for a bit. Mickey started to unwrap his sandwich, but Fiona's next words stopped him. "Ian told me, Mickey."

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. "Told you what?"

"About your birthday." He bit his lip. "You didn't say anything."

"I know," he said, running a hand nervously through his hair. "Didn't feel right."

"What didn't?"

"Putting you in the middle. We don't talk about him. Makes it easier, right?"

"I guess," she admitted. "So you're taking his advice, huh?"

"I guess," he parroted. 

She nodded and stood up, clearing her trash. "Well, if you ever want to, we can talk about it."

"Thanks," he said. She put her lab coat back on and walked over to the door. "Fiona."

"Hmm?" 

"Do something nice for yourself tonight."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll try."

***

The place Donovan picked out for dinner was on the North Side. Mickey felt a little uncomfortable in the new sweater he'd bought on impulse after work. Even though it wasn't that fancy, just an upscale pub, Mickey still felt like he didn't quite belong.

The hostess had noticed his knuckle tattoos, something he hadn't encountered in a while. It bothered him, which Donavan noticed. By the time they sat down Mickey wanted to leave. But he tried to make himself get over it for Donovan's sake.

"You okay?" Donovan asked. He watched Mickey frown at the menu. None of the burgers were cheaper than $18, which Mickey found totally ridiculous, even though they all sounded really delicious.

"Fine, sorry," Mickey said, looking up. He wasn't, but there wasn't anything Donovan could do about it.

"Alright," Donovan said, obviously not believing him. He looked down at the menu. When their waiter appeared, he ordered a Goose Island and looked at Mickey who said he'd have the same. "It's pretty obvious something's bothering you."

Mickey struggled to not roll his eyes. He really didn't want to explain his bad mood. "I know, I just kinda don't want to talk about it."

"Gonna be a fun dinner then, huh?" It was Donovan who rolled his eyes. Mickey wanted to punch him, but Donovan wasn't exactly wrong.

Mickey forced a smile. "I'm a jerk, okay? I just need a beer in me and I'll be better. Promise."

The waiter returned, handing over their drinks, and taking their orders before leaving them alone again. Mickey drank half his pint in just a few swallows. Donovan laughed. "Better already."

The beer was stronger than Mickey expected and he felt it right away. It did actually make him feel a little better, so he had another big sip. Donovan started telling Mickey about his day, Kira had a chorus recital at school that morning and apparently some kid had fainted in the middle of it. Mickey laughed as Donovan described the chaos of fifty first graders screaming their heads off.

Mickey looked up when he saw movement behind Donovan, a short man approaching who looked familiar somehow. It wasn't until he was right up next to the table that Mickey recognized Brian, the engineer/hostess of classy loft parties for gay Chicago.

"Mickey!" Brian said warmly, putting his hand out to shake. He seemed to remember at the last second that Mickey wasn't a big fan of shaking hands and started to pull back.

Mickey had grown up just a little bit since then and took Brian's hand firmly. "Hey, Brian, how's it goin'?" Donovan gave him a look. "Uh, this is Donovan." Mickey thought he should add a qualifier like my date, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"How do you two know each other?" Donovan asked. 

"Oh, I'm a friend of Ian's," Brian said, as if that would help Donovan understand. Donavan gave Mickey a blank look and Brian realized his mistake. He also gave a panicked look over his shoulder that told Mickey his night was about to get a lot worse.

"Who's Ian?" Donovan asked, just as Ian walked to stand next to Brian. Ian clearly didn't see Mickey until it was too late, and he looked absolutely mortified.

He recovered quickly, though, and held his hand out to Donovan, who took it warily. "I'm Ian. Hi." He looked at Mickey and for once seemed unsure of how to proceed. Mickey sure as fuck didn't know what to do.

"Glad that's cleared up," Donovan said. Mickey looked at him sharply, surprised he was acting like such a dick.

"Ian and I used to date," Mickey said, staring at Donovan defiantly. Donovan nodded, an unhappy smile on his face. Brian and Ian looked at each other, both looking like they wished they could disappear.

"Yeah, but, it's been ages," Ian said. Donovan kept looking at Mickey for a few seconds before turning to give Ian a withering look.

"Cool," he said. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. Nice to meet you both."

Brian made an excuse about checking on their table and walked away. Ian heaved a huge sigh. "That went well."

"Totally," Mickey said sarcastically. But he wasn't mad at Ian, not really.  "So Brian, huh?"

"Oh god, no, we're not--" 

"I didn't think that you were--"

"We're friends. He's been. He's been really good to me," Ian said. He smiled. "He helped me go back to school. Not, like, financially, he just kinda pushed me to do it. I know you thought he was a creep, but he's not."

Mickey frowned. "I didn't think that."

"Oh. Good."

"What are you studying?"

"I, uh, I'm in nursing school."

Mickey could see Ian doing it, taking care of people. Saving lives. It was a nice picture.

Ian cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. "I kinda ruined your date, didn't I?"

Mickey looked over his shoulder and saw that Donovan was sitting at the bar with a new beer, texting someone.

"Nah, I think he kinda did."

"I don't know, I'd be mad, too, I guess."

"You wouldn't be a jerk though."

Ian raised his eyebrows. "Who knows? It doesn't feel great, seeing you with someone else. I might be a jerk."

Mickey's mouth went dry. Now he was kind of mad at Ian.

"Seriously? This was your idea."

"No, Mick, I didn't mean it like that," Ian said, clearly unhappy with the turn the conversation had taken.

"How'd you mean it then?"

"I'm  _happy_  for you. I want this for you. But I never thought I'd have to  _see_ it." Mickey didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. "Mickey, I know it was my idea. But I'm not made of steel." Mickey nodded. "Look, I should go find Brian. And you should maybe go try to salvage your date."

Mickey looked over at Donovan again. He didn't really want to go over there. He assumed their first fight was going to be their last. "Yeah, probably." He stood up. His entire body felt pulled towards Ian like a magnet.

"See ya, Mick," Ian said quickly, as if he could read Mickey's thoughts. Then he was gone. Mickey drained the rest of his beer before walking over to the bar. Donovan didn't look up right away, even though he clearly knew Mickey was standing there.

"Your boyfriend gone?" he asked, looking at Mickey with dead eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend," Mickey said, feeling dumb. 

"Okay," Donovan said. 

"Why is this such a big deal? You don't have any exes running around?"

"None that I'm still obviously in love with." Mickey hated that his face immediately turned red. He was busted as hell. "That's what I thought."

"Donovan," Mickey started, but he was cut off with a raised hand.

"Save it, Mickey. I didn't think you and me were gonna be some great love story. But I don't like to have my time wasted."

It made sense to Mickey, even if he was pissed about how Donovan handled it. "So what now?"

"Go home, Mickey. That's all you're gonna get from me." He turned around to face in to the bar and that was it. Mickey tried to think of something to say other than sorry, but in the end it was all he could come up with. He said it and Donovan didn't even turn around. 

The train back to his neighborhood was crowded with people. And there were so many couples huddled together. Mickey felt like a sad girl in a rom com, watching the happy people with envy. It made him want to puke. Which, given his track record with running into Ian, was always a possibility.

He made it back to his apartment without incident until he got to his front door. It was open just a crack, absolutely not how he had left it. He felt his heart speed up and he cursed the fact that he no longer carried any weapons on him. He considered calling the cops, but decided to take his chances and see if he could get to his bat first.

When he opened the door prepared to dart towards his room, he was stopped dead by the sight of his sister, fast asleep on the couch. "Jesus, Mandy," he said. She stirred and sat up, wiping her face. Mickey saw that she had a black eye.

"Hey, Mick," she said, smiling feebly. "Mind if I crash here for a while?"

Mandy and Mickey stayed up for hours that night. Mandy cried a few times, explaining the sad history of her brief relationship. She told Mickey she'd already thrown everything she could carry into a bag that was currently in Mickey's room. And he told her it would stay there as long as she needed it to. 

Finally around three AM, Mickey realized they both needed to get some rest. Since Yev's room only had a bed fit for a small child and the couch was only comfortable for really short periods, Mandy ended up with him. 

As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, Mandy whispered, waking him back up. "You remember the last time we slept in the same bed?"

Of course he did. It was right after Ian went into the hospital. Mandy hadn't moved yet, but she was packing for it. Mickey was feeling panicky all the time and drinking too much to try to stay level. On that night, Mandy had found him alone at the kitchen table of their childhood home, head down on the linoleum, hand wrapped around a cheap bottle of whiskey, crying his eyes out. 

That morning he'd gone to see Ian with his family and Ian was just awful. He screamed at all of them about how much he hated them and how he'd never forgive them for putting him in there. Fiona was the only one who fought back, yelling that it was for his own good. Mickey just tried not to shake, failing miserably when Ian turned his full attention on him.

"You," he said, in this deep, terrifying voice Mickey had never heard before. "You helped them do this to me. You don't fucking love me, you never did."

Mickey had only just the week before told Ian that he loved him for the first time. He had whispered it in Ian's ear as they were leaving the hospital. Ian had smiled at him and for a moment Mickey had seen the old Ian inside him. Now it was being thrown back at him like a knife.

Ian kept screaming at them, sometimes focusing on one person, but more often treating them as this evil entity bent on ruining his life. Mickey wished he could cover his ears and he was so relieved when an orderly took Ian away. But then he realized he wouldn't even get to say goodbye. 

Up until the break-up, that was probably the worst ride home of Ian's whole stay. Debbie cried non-stop and Carl tried to hide it, but he was crying, too. Fiona had to keep it together so she could drive, but he kept catching her swiping at her face. Even Liam kept up a steady whine, not knowing why his whole family was sad, but deeply upset anyway. And Mickey, he sat in the front with Fiona, feeling like a zombie. He thought the hospital was supposed to be helping Ian, not making him worse. Maybe they'd made a huge mistake after all.

He barely remembered the Gallaghers dropping him off. But he started drinking as soon as he walked in the door. And it wasn't until Mandy had found him that he had finally run out of steam. When she touched his shoulder, he looked up at her and just the sight of his face made her gasp.

"Mickey," she whispered. "Come on, come with me." She pulled him to his feet and he had to lean into her with nearly his whole weight to keep from falling over. Instead of taking him to his own room, she guided him to hers. She didn't bother making him get undressed, just gently pushed him onto the bed and covered him with her blanket. He passed out for a few minutes, until she was crawling in beside him.

Mandy found his hand somewhere under the covers and squeezed it between hers. Mickey sobbed and she squeezed it even tighter. She let him cry for a while, not letting go of his hand or saying anything. Finally his head was hurting so badly that he could barely keep his eyes open. She let go of his hand and ran her fingers through his hair. 

"Just go to sleep, Mick. It'll be okay," she whispered. Like a switch turned off, he fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, she was gone, full daylight sun streaming into the room. They never talked about it.

"Yeah, I remember," he said finally. 

"That sucked," she said and Mickey laughed. 

"Little bit." Mickey found her hand under the covers. She looked surprised, but threaded her fingers in his. "You gonna be okay?"

She thought about it for a moment, closing her eyes. When she opened them, he thought she looked like someone who'd made a decision. "Better already."

***

He and Mandy fell into a pretty decent rhythm. She helped him with Yevgeny, kept the place cleaner than he ever could by himself. She'd disappear some nights and not tell him where he was going, but he didn't feel like he had the right to insist she explain. But after about a month she said she was finally ready to take him up on his offer to help her get a job. His supervisor thought so highly of Mickey's only other recommendation, Fiona, he essentially hired Mandy on the spot.

Life didn't feel like it had them in such a choke hold after that. There wasn't a question if bills were going to get paid on time. And Mickey even bought Yev some stuff that wasn't a hand-me-down. The toddler carried his Ninja Turtles blanket around like it was made of gold and would no longer sleep without it. Mickey was terrified of the day he lost it between Mickey's place and Svetlana's.

Mickey even went on a few dates. Some guy he met at the bar he'd gone to on his birthday was sort of promising. Actually, he'd been part of Jerome's birthday celebration, though Mickey didn't remember him. Cole was funny and he did a really good impression of Jerome that never failed to crack Mickey up.

Cole was sitting at Mickey's kitchen table, scrolling through Instagram on his phone. "I swear, it's in here somewhere."

Mickey was stirring a pot of spaghetti. "I think you're full of shit. You were all fucking wasted that night."

"Ha! Now you'll see who's full of shit." He stood up and walked over to Mickey, putting a hand on his back and holding the phone up in front of Mickey's face.

It was a picture from Mickey's birthday. Mickey was expecting a photo of himself doing an awkward shot with Jerome. But it was Mickey in profile and he was clearly looking at Ian.

"What's wrong?" Cole said, pulling the phone back and looking at it. "Don't like having your picture taken?"

"No, uh, it's not that," Mickey said. He didn't know what to tell Cole. That's just a picture of me looking at the love of my life? 

Mickey turned off the burner and poured the water out into the sink. He put the noodles back in the pot and added the sauce he'd been heating separately. He didn't turn around but he could feel Cole watching him.

"You left kind of suddenly that night. This have anything to do with that?"

Mickey brought the pot over to the table and sat down. He served himself and Cole some pasta, but didn't start eating. 

"Yeah," he said finally. "I ran into somebody I hadn't seen in a long time."

Cole nodded and ate a bite of spaghetti. Mickey looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"Obviously an important somebody." He didn't look upset, just curious. "Your ex?" Mickey nodded. Cole smiled like he understood. "And you're still in love with him?"

He said it so kindly, not like he was accusing Mickey of anything. "Yes," Mickey said. 

"Then why not be with him?" Cole asked. He laughed. "Not trying to get rid of you or anything, but if you're in love with someone else..."

"He doesn't want to be with me," Mickey explained. 

"Why not?" Cole narrowed his eyes exaggeratedly. "What's wrong with you?"

Mickey was surprised to hear himself laugh. "The break-up, it was really hard for both of us. He has some," Mickey paused, not wanting to betray Ian. "Health issues."

Cole looked thoughtful. "Okay, so he doesn't want you to feel like you have to take care of him or something?"

Somehow that hadn't occurred to Mickey. "Maybe. I don't know."

Cole took another bite of food and motioned to Mickey's plate. "It's gonna get cold."

"You're not pissed off?" Mickey put a forkful into his mouth and chewed. 

"No, why would I be?"

"I don't know, because...I don't feel that way about--"

"About me?" Cole laughed. "Holy shit, Mickey, we've known each other like five minutes. You don't owe me anything. And this has been fun. I like hanging out with you."

"Oh," Mickey said. Cole stared at him. "I like hanging out with you, too!" Cole threw his head back and practically cackled.

"You're fucking ridiculous, you know that? Eat your spaghetti, weirdo."

They finished their dinner without saying anything else. Cole kicked him under the table a couple times, and Mickey kicked him back. Afterwards, they made out on the couch for a while, but it didn't go any further than a few gropes over their clothes. Mickey sort of wanted Cole to stay the night, but he knew he shouldn't. 

Cole stood in the open doorway, his arms rested on Mickey's shoulder. He leaned in and kissed Mickey, running his tongue along Mickey's teeth. Mickey pulled him closer, liking the way he felt. 

After a minute, Cole pulled away and patted Mickey on the cheek. "Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. What are we gonna do with you, huh?"

The answer turned out to take a few weeks to appear. Cole would come over, they'd fool around, watch TV together. But Cole was always careful with Mickey. He could tell Cole wasn't getting too attached. The night Cole told him they probably shouldn't hang out anymore, Mickey wasn't too surprised. It made sense and neither of them seemed too upset about it.

Before Mickey knew it, Mandy was moving out again. She'd found a little studio apartment only a few blocks away. It was going to be weird not sharing a bed with her anymore, but she'd been spending a lot more nights away from him. 

After the last piece of Ikea furniture was assembled, Mickey collapsed onto Mandy's unmade bed.

She pushed him with her foot. "Ew, you're all sweaty."

"I was working hard for you, bitch," he said, eyes closed. She flopped next to him.

"God, you stink, too."

"Well, next time tell your boyfriend to move all your shit." Mandy let out a surprised gasp. Mickey didn't think she'd be so easy. "So you  _are_ seeing someone."

"You're gonna be mad."

"No, not him." Mandy scrunched up her face at him. "Fucking  _Lip Gallagher_?" Mandy sighed. "Mandy, he is the fucking worst. I'd rather you dated Carl."

"That would be illegal."

"I don't care, at least that kid has a code." Mandy wasn't smiling anymore. "I'm kidding. Sort of."

He grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry, Mick."

"No, I am. Is he being good to you? Making you happy?"

"Yeah, he actually is," she said.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"As long as it stays that way, he and I don't have a problem." Mandy swung their hands up towards the ceiling. She looked like she wanted to say something else. "What?" he prompted.

"They're having a party for Ian next week."

Mickey tried to sound casual. "Oh yeah?"

"He's out of the hospital three years already," she said. "I'm supposed to invite you."

Mickey was startled. "Whowants me there?"

"Everyone," she said, like it was obvious. Mickey sat up.

"Everyone? Even--"

"Yes, even Ian. Especially Ian."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I don't know, Mick, but don't you want to find out?" She sat up on her elbows, watching him. "You're not a pussy anymore. Come to the party, talk to him. Who knows what could happen?"

Mickey left shortly after that. He stood in the shower for a long time, letting the spray hit muscles sore from lifting Mandy's stuff. Ian wanted him to go to a party. Ian wanted to see him. What the fuck?

The next week felt like it passed in slow motion. The only event of note was Yev's triumphant use of what he called the "big boy potty." Mickey said a prayer that he would never have to change another diaper and called Svetlana to gloat. She sounded pissed off that it hadn't happened on her watch and that made him feel even better.

The morning of the party, Mickey started freaking out. He was glad Yevgeny was around and in a particularly hyper mood. He had to take him out to the park to burn excess energy or he was afraid the kid would turn into a tiny tornado and destroy their apartment.

The park was right next to the baseball fields. They were empty, but Mickey kept glancing over at the dugouts, looking for ghosts. Part of him hoped that Ian would magically appear, so he kept Yevgeny out until he was falling down and staying down with exhaustion. Mickey had to haul him over his shoulder, a smaller imitation of the time he had taken Ian in a fireman's carry home from the club.

Yev stayed asleep for more than two hours. Mickey paced the apartment, pulling clothes out of his closet and holding them up for inspection. Nothing felt right and he felt stupid for worrying about it so much.

When Yev woke up he was groggy and fussy, clearly hungry but refused to eat. Mickey gave up and left him at the table, crying. When he came back a few minutes later prepared to offer Yev a toy to keep him company, the little boy was eating quietly. Mickey gave him a kiss on top of his head and Yev held up his hand for Mickey to take. It was covered in peanut butter, but Mickey took it anyway.

"Feeling better, buddy?"

Yev nodded. He held up a piece of his sandwich, trying to share with Mickey. Half of Mickey's diet was whatever Yev didn't finish, so he took the offering and ate it in one bite. Yev giggled and tried to stuff his sandwich in his mouth. Mickey reached over and pulled it out while Yev laughed.

"Don't choke, okay?" Yev laughed like that was the funniest thing he ever heard. Mickey sighed. Whatever happened tonight with Ian, he thought he'd be okay. His life was really far from perfect, but it wasn't that bad either.

Yev ended up picking out Mickey's shirt. He was messing around on Mickey's bed, playing in all the clothes Mickey was pulling out of the closet. He held up a simple black button-down. "This one."

Mickey turned around from his dresser, where he was digging around, hoping to find something he didn't hate. It wasn't the shirt he'd been wearing the day he'd found Ian at the Fairy Tale, but it looked close.

"Thanks, bud," Mickey said, putting on the shirt over his tee. Yev went back to burying himself under Mickey's clothes. 

Mickey had to go back up the stairs for the six pack of beer he'd bought for  the party. Yev whined when Mickey insisted on carrying him so they wouldn't take ten years to go up and down the three flights. But he was skipping by the time they got to the Gallaghers', knowing he was going to see some of his favorite people.

Mickey hesitated outside the front door. The lights were all on and, though it wasn't quite a rager, there were clearly a lot of people inside. Before he could force himself up the stairs the front door opened. Fiona stood, backlit by the light from the entryway.

"You coming in or you gonna just creep out here all night?"

"I don't know, it's quieter out here."

He let go of Yev's hand and the little boy promptly bolted up the stairs and into Fiona's legs. She scooped him up and gave him a kiss, causing him to scream. By the time Mickey got to the top of the stairs, Yev had run off. Fiona put a hand on Mickey's bicep.

"Glad you came."

"Yeah?" he said, peering around her to try to see into the party. "Kinda freakin' out over here."

"No shit," she said, laughing. "You'll be fine." She motioned for him to go in and shut the door behind him.

Debbie assaulted him first with a massive hug. Carl punched him way too hard on the shoulder. Liam gave him a high five. He saw Ian's back, talking to Lip and Mandy. He grabbed a beer from his six pack before setting the case down on the coffee table. Kev and Vee were sitting on the couch, watching the Bears lose on TV.

"Mickey!" Kevin boomed when he noticed him. He stood up, towering over Mickey and pulling him into a bruising hug.

"Christ, can a guy breathe around here?" Kevin just laughed and released him. Vee stood up and gave Mickey a quick kiss on the cheek.

"If you told me five years ago I'd be doing that, I would have told you you were out of your damn mind," she said, smiling. She looked behind him and her eyes widened. "I guess I've had my turn."

Mickey took a deep breath and turned around to see Ian standing behind him. "Hey."

Ian grinned. "Hey." They looked at each other. "Thanks for coming."

"Sure. Thanks for having me."

Lip called out to Ian and he turned away. Mickey wanted to punch his stupid fucking face in, but what was new about that? Ian turned back to Mickey. "Just a sec."

But he didn't come back for a while, leaving Mickey to watch football squeezed in next to Kevin. Yevgeny took a break from running around like a maniac to sit in his lap for a little while. His bedtime was about half an hour overdue and Mickey hated that they'd probably need to be on their way soon.

"Want to take him upstairs? He can sleep in my bed." Ian was standing over him, looking down at Yev who was now passed out. 

"Okay." Ian motioned for Mickey to hand him the sleeping child. 

"Come on," Ian said, as he carried Yev up the stairs to the second floor. Ian laid Yevgeny down in his bed and took his sneakers off like he'd been doing it every night. "You bring pajamas for him or anything?"

"Yeah, but he's fine. He'd wake up if we tried to change him now." Ian nodded and looked back at Yev. He leaned forward and gave the toddler a gentle kiss on the forehead.

He stood up and crossed his arms. "He's so fucking cute." He turned to Mickey. "How'd you do that?"

"I keep waiting for someone to explain it."

Ian bumped him with his shoulder. "Nah, I see it."

Mickey bumped him back. "Let's get out of here before he wakes up and wants candy or something."

They left the room and Ian shut the door quietly. He motioned to Lip's old room with his head. "Got a sec?" Mickey nodded and swallowed the sour fear rising in the back of his throat.

When they were inside, Ian shut the door and turned on the soft light of the bedside lamp. He sat on the bed and patted the spot next to him. Mickey sat down, feeling like a robot.

They both started to talk at the same time.

"Mick, I--"

"Ian, you--"

They laughed and Ian nodded. "You go first."

Mickey swallowed. "I was gonna say. I'm really proud of you. You look. You look really happy."

"I've got my moments," Ian said quietly. "And I know how lucky I am to have everyone down there supporting me."

"I noticed Frank's not around."

Ian laughed. "Thank fuck for that."

Mickey looked down at where Ian's hand was resting on his knee. He wanted so badly to hold it. But he just flexed his hand against his own leg instead.

"Mickey?"

Mickey looked up at Ian. Every time he saw him, he looked better, more at home in himself. And, as always, fucking gorgeous.

"Yeah?"

"You seeing anybody?" Ian actually looked scared of what Mickey might say.

Mickey couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm not."

And the relief on Ian's face was so clear, he didn't know how he could have mistaken whatever he thought he'd seen years ago for this. Mickey put his hand up to Ian's face and ran his thumb along Ian's bottom lip. Ian grabbed Mickey's arm and pressed a kiss to his wrist. The sound of Mickey swallowing was deafening in the quiet room. Ian flicked his eyes up to Mickey's and that was it. Mickey was fucking done waiting.

He closed the gap between their faces and pressed his lips to Ian's. Ian made a small noise, letting go of Mickey's hand and cupping the back of his head. Mickey put his hand on Ian's thigh, searching for his other hand. When he found out, he weaved their fingers together and squeezed.

They spent a few minutes just pressing soft, dry kisses to each other's mouths. When Ian finally opened his mouth to flick his tongue against Mickey's upper lip, it was all Mickey could do to keep from throwing him back onto the bed and straddling him. The kiss was hotter now, and wet, and every time Ian's tongue touched his, Mickey moaned. Ian ran his hand down Mickey's throat, dipped his fingers into the hollow at the base and along Mickey's collarbone. Mickey let go Ian's hand to slip his own under Ian's shirt. Ian gasped and pulled back.

"Jesus, your hands are cold."

"Sorry," Mickey murmured, before leaning in again and resuming kissing Ian. Ian sighed as Mickey trailed his fingers along his stomach and chest underneath his shirt. He broke away again to pull it over his head and start unbuttoning Mickey's. Mickey watched him with interest, the way Ian concentrated on carefully opening each button, the way he looked like he'd won some major prize when it was finally open. Ian pushed the shirt partially off Mickey's shoulders and Mickey removed it the rest of the way. He hardly had his hands free before Ian was lifting his t-shirt over his head and capturing his mouth again.

Ian pressed his palms against Mickey's chest and hummed appreciatively. "Nice," he said, pulling back for a moment.

"Yeah, carrying around a thirty-five pound kid's a pretty good workout as it turns out." Ian grinned and dipped his head down to put his lips to Mickey's chest, kissing him right over his heart. 

Mickey put his hand under Ian's chin and lifted him up to eye level. "Hey."

"Hey," Ian whispered.

"What are we doing here?"

"You're not having fun?"

Mickey grabbed Ian's hand and pushed it against his crotch. "It feel like I'm having fun?"

Ian bit his lip, staring down at the bulge in Mickey's pants like he wanted to move in there. But when his fingers went to start opening Mickey's fly, Mickey held him still. "You don't want to?"

"I want to talk first."

"You wanna _talk_?" Ian sounded horrified. "I can't even _think_ with you...like this." He waved his hand up and down Mickey and Mickey flushed. 

"Come on," Mickey pleaded.

Ian nodded, pulling his hands away. He looked away from Mickey, out the window. Mickey couldn't stop staring at him. He couldn't believe he was half-naked in a bed with Ian and actually putting a stop to what was pretty much guaranteed to be the best sex of his life.

"I don't know, Mick. I didn't have much of a plan. I just," he broke off, frustrated. "I wish I had thought of some big speech for you. But I just woke up one day and realized I was ready for you. I haven't been able to think about anything else since."

Mickey was floored. 

Ian continued. "I really appreciate you giving me the space I asked for. Back then and on your birthday. Even when you didn't like it, you always tried to do what I asked you. It means a lot to me."

Mickey nodded. "I trust you."

Ian gave him the biggest smile he'd seen in a long time. "You do?"

"Of course." Mickey leaned forward to kiss him. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mickey."

They started kissing again but with a lot less urgency. Mickey knew nothing would happen that night, but it was still amazing. They were so caught up in each other they almost didn't hear the soft knock on the door. They both scrambled to put their t-shirts back on before Ian stood to open the door. Debbie was standing there looking nervous.

"Oh, thank god, I thought you two were maybe still doing it."

"We weren't--" Ian said, while Mickey laughed, pulling his button-down back on.

"Kev and Vee and Sheila are all leaving. They wanted to say goodbye."

"You draw the short straw or something?" Mickey asked, putting his hand on Ian's back. Ian pulled him close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Mickey thought he might never stop smiling, they just fit together so perfectly.

"Match actually," Debbie said, leading them back down the stairs.

The whole room erupted in ridiculous applause when they both got to the landing. Ian waved like he was on a float. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Mickey muttered, his face on fire.

There was a blur of hugs and high fives and before Mickey knew it he was on the couch, sandwiched between Ian and Fiona. Debbie was in front of them, picking up beer cans and empty plastic cups.

"Some party," Fiona said. "Kinda like old times."

Debbie made an agreeable noise and then dropped the garbage bag on the floor. "I'm done cleaning. I'm going to bed." She gave her siblings and Mickey all tight hugs and went upstairs.

"Guess I should call it a night, too," Fiona said. She put her hand on the side of Mickey's face opposite her and pulled him close. She kissed his nearer cheek and grabbed his hand in hers. He held it back and closed his eyes, willing himself to hold it together. "We've been through a lot of fucking shit together, Mickey Milkovich. You ready to be happy yet?"

"Fuck yeah," he said, laughing wetly. Fiona laughed too and he pulled her into a hug. When she stood up, Ian stood with her and put his arms around her. 

"Love you, Fi," he whispered. 

"I love you, too," she said. "Both of you. Jesus, who'd'a thunk?"

Ian sat back down and rested his head on Mickey's shoulder. Mickey patted his thigh absently, looking around the Gallagher living room fondly. 

"So you ready?" Ian asked, lifting his head to look at Mickey's face.

"Ready for what?"

"To try again. Be together."

Mickey reached down and took Ian's hand in his. "Absolutely."

And Ian smiled and kissed him. Maybe it would work out, maybe they'd be happy. Maybe it wouldn't. But Mickey had a good feeling about it. And somehow, he knew they'd both be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I literally spent the entire day writing this. I hope it makes people happy. I'm pretty happy with it! Thank you for all the incredible comments and feedback. It truly blew me away.
> 
> Happy New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I have to apologize for this one. But it needed to come out.
> 
> Also, I feel pretty strongly that Fiona and Mickey should be on the same team.


End file.
